Works of J. Storer Clouston: Count Bunker, The Lunatic At Large, The Man From The Clouds, The Prodigal Father, Simon

The Man From the Clouds

The Best Works of J. Storer Clouston (The Best Works of J. Storer Clouston Including Count Bunker, Simon, The Lunatic at Large, The Man From the Clouds, The Prodigal Father, The Spy in Black, & More)

The man from the clouds. no. 472

The Man from the Clouds (Classic Reprint)

"Yes, I had a little talk with him; that's to say of course I did allthe talking."

"In your natural voice?"

"Latterly I did," I admitted.

"Were you far from the wall above the beach."

"Not very."

"And I suppose there were lots of rocks about?"

"The usual supply."

"Then some one was behind either the wall or the rocks and you wereoverheard! That's how you were found out!"

"Miss Rendall," I said, "you arrive at solutions by such brilliant shortcuts that I feel like an old cart horse stumbling along out of sightbehind you. My models hitherto have been the classical detectives--"

"Tuts!" she laughed, "they were only men!"

"Yes," I agreed, "we are not much of a sex. And now, guess again please,it's a very simple conundrum this time--for you. Who was the man behindthe wall--or the rocks?"

She looked the least trifle hurt.

"I am really trying to help," she said,

"I know it!" I assured her. "And don't think I am laughing at you. Thisjumping to conclusions is probably the right way of reaching them. Anyhowmy way has failed, and I am only too keen to try yours."

But I could see that I had a sensitive as well as a clever ally, and herardour was evidently a little damped. I tried my best to rekindle it.

"I haven't told you yet," I said, "about Mr. Hobhouse's attempts atdetection. He discovered one little fact. The old man with the tintedspectacles was seen by a small child running towards the beach after hehad interviewed me."

I could see her pricking up her ears again, but she said little thistime, and I went on to tell her of Bolton's two talks with me. When Icame to his discovery her ardour was fairly aflame again, yet she stillseemed to be holding herself in a little.

"Some one who hasn't lived all 'their' life in the place," she repeated."Yes, it sounds as if he meant a woman."

"Oh, I didn't say that," I interposed.

"You thought it," she retorted, "and in that case I suppose it was me."

"But surely he must have known that before!"

"One would think so," she said thoughtfully, "but he didn't look a veryintelligent man--poor fellow! Still, it would be a stupid kind ofdiscovery to make a fuss about."

"There's just one thing more to tell you," I said; and I told her of thecurious episode by the cliffs on the day Bolton was murdered, andmentioned my own conclusions, such as they were, and my difficulties infitting them into the evidence.

There was no doubt about her keenness now, yet I noticed that there wereno bold inferences this time. Nor did she even ask me many questions. ButI saw her grow very thoughtful.

"Well," I said, "have you any ideas--any suspicions?"

She gave no answer for a few moments, and then she said.

"I am not going to jump to conclusions again, Mr. Merton. There is no usetrying to act on wild ideas till we have found a little more out. Youmight just be running risks for no purpose, and you are in quite enoughdanger as it is."

"Hobhouse will look after me," I assured her.

She glanced at me with a look in her eyes that gave me a little thrill,and then I saw a slight shiver run over her.

"You are too brave to realise what danger you are in! Remember Bolton!"

"Believe me, Miss Rendall, I am just as careful of my skin as otherpeople, but there is absolutely no danger so long as they don't spot me."

"But how long will that be? And you are taking no precautions at all!"

"But I am! I assure you I am. I have a code wire arranged with my cousinand when he gets the message 'Request permission to be visited by my owndoctor,' he will be in Ransay as fast as he can steam."

She gave a little laugh, but looked anxious still.

"What a delicious message! Well, that's better than nothing. But youdon't imagine they will give you warning, do you?"

"You will," I said confidently. "When you guess there's danger I'll wire.And now, I hope you have some idea in your head besides this notion of mydanger. Be honest! what's in your mind?"

But I now perceived I had also an obstinate ally.

"I have told you," she persisted, "we must find out a little more beforedoing anything rash. And I promise not to keep anything back, and to tellyou at once if I find out anything worth knowing. Oh, if you only knewhow I want you to catch those people! As if I could possibly do anythingagain to interfere with you!"

What I should have liked to do was to take her hands and say somethingvery friendly. What I did do was to thank her and assure her I trustedher, in words that I think she knew were sincere; and arrange to see heraccidentally next day. And then I set off for my sanatorium with thoughtsthat were not in the least of the detective type.

It was Jean Rendall's eyes, voice, smile and face--herself from her hairto her ankles--that filled my mind as I hummed my way home. Unlike thesuspicious stranger, Thomas Sylvester Hobhouse had not been given tosinging, whistling, or humming as he walked, but he broke loose now. Ihad instinctively dreaded a too close acquaintance with that girl whilethe case was doubtful. I felt in my bones she would be dangerous. Now Iwas enraptured to discover she was fatal.

XIV

THE POCKET BOOK

Out of the doctor's smoking-room window you saw nothing but a field ortwo of bleached wintry grass, with a glimpse of grey sea beyond and thatiniquitous pebble drive close at hand. That at least was all I could seeon the blighting March morning after my tea with Jean Rendall. The chillydamp weather had given place to chillier hard weather. With thetemperature below freezing and thin showers of dry snow driving up everynow and then before a biting nor'east wind, there was little temptationto go abroad without excuse. My excuse was due in an hour's time whenMiss Rendall and Mr. Hobhouse proposed to encounter one anotheraccidentally on the road, and meantime I was turning away from the windowtowards the fire when I heard the gravel crunch.

On general principles I turned back and looked out, to see a certainsmall farmer approaching the front door. I knew the man slightly andwas not in the least interested in him. Presumably, I thought, it wasa call for the doctor; and then my attention was sharply caught. Hewas carrying in his hand a fat little brown leather pocket book and inan instant I had remembered where I had seen exactly such a pocketbook before.

A minute or two later it so chanced that as the maid was speaking to theman at the door, the amiable Mr. Hobhouse came out into the hall, and inhis friendly way approached to see what the matter was; and veryinterested indeed he became when he heard. The pocket book, said thefarmer, bore the name of James Bolton inside, and the maid was shudderingover a dull stain on the cover when Mr. Hobhouse appeared. The man wenton to explain that he and a friend had been visiting the scene of thetragedy early that morning and had discovered the pocket book among therocks close to where the body had been found. The local police had beenin the island and visited the spot yesterday afternoon, he said, and hehad meant to give his find to them, but now he heard that they had leftagain. They were coming back, and London police with them, people said,but meanwhile he thought the pocket book should be deposited either withthe doctor or the laird (being Justices of the Peace), and he had calledat the doctor's first. Now, the doctor being out, he meant to take it toMr. Rendall's.

Hardly necessary to say, Mr. Hobhouse instantly took upon himself theresponsibility of seeing that the doctor got the pocket book the momenthe returned, and the farmer, glad enough to save himself a longer walk,handed it over. And then Mr. Hobhouse put a few very natural questions.

"Was the pocket book wet when it was found?"

"No wetter than she is now," said the man.

"Then it must have fallen out of poor Bolton's pocket before his body wasthrown into the sea! Dreadful! Dreadful!" exclaimed the distressedgentleman. "And was it quite conspicuous--easily seen on the rocks?"

"We saw it a' right," said the man.

"And yet the police never noticed it? Dear me, dear me! Well, well, I'llgive it to the doctor. Good morning, my good fellow, and many thanks;good morning!"

Over the smoking room fire I examined this discovery very thoughtfully.That it should have lain on the rocks all the time, and nobody, not eventhe police, noticed it till now, seemed strange. Still, when one came tothink of it, the brown colour was very like the seaweed, and among thatjumble of boulders such a thing might readily have happened. Butcertainly it had fallen out before the body was thrown into the sea, asits condition proved.

I glanced through the entries till I came to the very last the poor manhad made; and then I sat up and opened my eyes very wide indeed. Plainlyand distinctly these mems. were jotted:

"Proof positive O'B. or confederate.

"To be discovered whether O'B. himself--or the other?

"Possibilities--Thomsons--No Scotts--No Scollays--No."

The Thomsons and Scotts I knew to be tenants of seaboard farms like theScollays, and after the Scollays came three other names, each with "No"written after them. A pencil mark also scored across all the six names.

So here was Bolton's secret. Either O'Brien was actually in the islandhimself, or he had a "confederate" here, and since that entry was made,one of the two had crowned his series of crimes by murdering the man whowas on his track. And who was this confederate? Or alternatively, wherewas O'Brien himself lurking? Obviously the six names were peopledefinitely acquitted, in Bolton's estimation anyhow; for the "No" and theline through their names could only mean that.

In this list certain names were not included--I had got so far when Ihappened to glance at the clock and started to my feet. My appointmentwith Jean was already overdue.

No sign of her when I reached the road, so I set off to walk slowlytowards her house, thinking, thinking, thinking. Of course the man mostof all to be suspected was her own cousin. And if he were in it, I knewthat any person of common sense would warn me to beware of confiding inhis only relatives in the island. But I felt sure I knew better than anyperson of mere common sense. Still, I could scarcely ask her to abet mein convicting the doctor. Then I must not show her the note book. Andthat meant a breach in our confidence at the very start.

I had walked on till I was approaching her house, and still there was nosign of her ahead, nor was there any conclusion in my mind. And then Ichanced to look round and saw her hastening after me, about a couple ofhundred yards away. I wheeled round and on the instant leapt to one of mytypical haphazard decisions. I would simply show her the pocket book andsee how she took it.

She had evidently been running and met me half cross and half laughingand divinely flushed after her stern chase.

"I've been chasing you for miles!" she cried. "Why ever didn't youlook round?"

"But I thought you were coming straight from home!"

"I never said so, and I wasn't! I've been somewhere else first."

There seemed to be a hint of something significant in these lastwords, but I was so eager to come to the point that I never paused toquestion her.

"I am dreadfully sorry," I said, "but I was thinking so hard I neverthought of looking round. I have got some news for you."

Her eyes sparkled.

"What is it?" she cried.

"Bolton's pocket book has been found among the rocks, and this was hislast entry before he was killed."

I handed her the book open at the place and watched her face as she read.And one thing her expression revealed beyond any possibility of doubt.She was utterly and completely taken aback, and for some moments simplystared at the jottings in dead silence. Then I saw a sudden gleam in hereye, and a moment later she turned to me and cried,

"This wasn't written by Bolton!"

It was my turn to stare.

"Not written by Bolton!" I exclaimed. "Let me look at it again."

Standing there in the middle of the windy road, we quite forgot thetemperature, and a passing snow shower even whipped us unnoticed.

"Look!" she said. "The writing is thicker and blacker and a little biggerthan the other entries."

"It was evidently written with a different pencil, or with a bluntpointed pencil. A man writing with a short blunt stump naturallywrites a little bigger and blacker. But look at the _t_s and the _r_s,and the capital _P;_ in fact, look at all the letters. They are exactlythe same type."

"Of course any one trying to copy another man's hand would make hisletters the same," she retorted, "but the character isn't the same.Can't you see?"

"There is a slight difference," I admitted, "but I really can't honestlysay I see any sufficient ground for putting this down as a fake. Besides,what do you suppose it is--a practical joke?"

"No, of course not. It was written by the real murderer to put people offthe scent."

I tried not to smile, but I am afraid I did.

"Another brilliant guess!" I said, and then hastened to add, "But a mostingenious one and quite possibly--very probably, in fact, you are right."

But she saw through my compliments, and I felt rather than observed aninstant change in her.

"Oh, you may be right," she said, and handed me back the pocket book.

"Or wrong," I replied, "but I mean to try and discover which."

Instead of asking me what I meant to do, as I feared and expected, shewalked by my side very thoughtfully and in silence. I gave her amoment or two to put the question which never came, and then changedthe subject.

"And have you discovered anything?" I asked.

"Not discovered--only guessed," she answered with a smile in her eyes,half defiant, half mischievous.

"And what have you guessed?"

"Oh, I won't trouble you with more guesses. I must find something outfirst--something really convincing, like that note book."

I was a little piqued, but I merely laughed and said,

"Well, we'll see!"

By this time we were quite near the house.

"Won't you come in and have lunch with us?" she asked.

The temptation was strong, but the scent seemed too warm to lose, and Isaid I must be back for lunch at home. We stopped, and as she looked atme I noticed in her eyes what first seemed to be doubt and anxiety and amoment later to become resolution.

"Mr. Merton," she said; her voice rather low, "which ever of us is right,I think we must be getting near rather a critical point. Don't you thinkyou had better send off that wire to Captain Whiteclett?"

I shook my head.

"Not quite yet," I said. "You see it's a serious matter dragging mycousin out here unless one is quite certain he will be needed."

"But then he may not be in time!"

"I must risk that. But you may rest assured I'll wire the very instant Iknow it won't be bringing him out on a wild goose chase."

For an instant she was silent again, and then she suddenly said,

"I'm sure that writing was forged!"

It seemed to me that I read in her exclamation a kind of whipping up ofher unbelief, as though she needed to reassure herself.

"A pair of gloves on it?" I suggested.

I quite confess that it was not one of my most tactful suggestions. Shefroze up again at once. Not that there was anything unkind in her eye aswe said good-bye, only it was clear that in the meantime we were eachgoing our own way.

I set out at my best pace back for I was hot for instant action, andJean's doubts, though I dismissed them as quite unjustified by anythingin the writing, nevertheless made me anxious to settle the question atonce. The end might be very near indeed, I told myself, as I strode outwith the last remains of my limp quite vanished. But what prompted thosedoubts; a genuine disbelief in the authenticity of the handwriting, or aperception of the logical consequences and a very natural shrinking fromthem? I wondered very much. The fact that she had refrained from askinga single question as to what I meant to do, suggested the secondsolution. And yet it was curiously unlike Jean Rendall's fearless spirit.

XV

PART OF THE TRUTH

I never remember feeling more intensely chagrined than when I reached ourbleak house twenty minutes late for our early dinner to find the doctorhad eaten a hurried meal quarter of an hour before the usual hour andrushed out to attend an urgent case.

I asked at once whether he had been told of the pocket book. Yes, itappeared he had. He had seemed very interested, but had immediatelyordered his dinner hour to be advanced and then hurried away withoutputting further questions.

Was his haste a consequence of what he was told, or merely acoincidence? Well, I was resolved to leave that point in doubt no laterthan his return. I hardly debated at all the question of what to do. Thebaffling business of groping in the dark, and daily scheming to discovera window, without giving myself away, had gone on long enough. I hadfound a head at last and I meant to hit it. It might turn out to be thewrong head; still, I felt convinced I could scarcely fail to discoversomething fresh.

But though I proposed to take a bold course and make a short cut to theheart of this infernal mystery, I realised perfectly that if the cutactually led me there, it would prove an exceedingly dangerous by-way.It was such a gamble that I shrank from summoning my cousin until it hadcome off, but I wrote out the code telegram we had arranged and put itin my pocket ready for emergencies. Of the doctor's two servants theyounger anyhow was absolutely trustworthy I was convinced, and I meantto send her with the wire to the post office while I kept guard over theprisoner. And then, to ensure there being a prisoner, I saw that all thechambers of my revolver were loaded and put it in my coat pocket readyto my hand.

The afternoon dragged on, the wind still blustering round the house andthe hail now and then rattling on the windows; but no Dr. Rendallappeared. Tea time arrived and still no sign of him. I gave him half anhour's grace and then had my own tea and returned to the smoking-room.The evening by this time had fallen and the curtains were drawn and thelamps lit.

And then at last I heard him enter the front door. I jumped up and, witha dramatic instinct for taking the centre of the stage, placed myselfbefore the fire, but I heard him run upstairs and it was some minutesbefore the sound of his descending steps reached me. The moment the dooropened I was conscious that one of those peculiar changes I had so oftennoticed had taken place in the man. He smiled at me, but with a curiouslyfurtive eye, and then he shut the door and came forward.

"You have had tea, I hope," said he.

I wasted no time in preliminaries. Keeping my right hand closed over therevolver in my pocket I held out the pocket book with my left.

"Dr. Rendall," I said, "you have heard that Bolton's pocket book has beenfound. Here it is. Kindly look at that entry."

The man started perceptibly and stared at me. Speaking in that tone andwithout my eye glasses I must have made an astonishing contrast to theThomas Hobhouse he had last seen that morning at breakfast.

"Read that," I commanded.

He took the pocket book and I watched him closely. I saw his eyebrowsrise as he read.

"What's all this about?" he asked.

"It is Bolton's last entry in his note book before he was murdered, andit means that O'Brien is either still in this island, or that aconfederate of his is playing traitor in his place, and that one of thetwo has just committed murder. It is quite impossible that you don't knowsomething of this!"

His blue eyes now had considerably more anger than guilt in them. Infact I was bound to admit that he looked a fine upstanding man, withhis grey moustache, high colour, and an air of unmistakable indignationin his face.

"Who the devil are you?" he demanded.

"I may tell you that I am _not_ Thomas Sylvester Hobhouse, and that Ihave never taken liquor enough in my life to hurt myself. I am here toinvestigate certain things that have been going on in this island, andI'll put one question to you straight, Dr. Rendall. You remember beingvisited by a certain man Merton last August, When you heard himapproaching your house why did you pull down your blind?"

That shot went straight home. All the indignation vanished and I saw onthe instant I had him at my mercy.

"What--what--has that to do with it?" he stammered.

"Don't trouble to try and hedge. As a matter of fact I am Merton and Isaw the blind go down myself. Since then we have always been on yourtracks, Dr. Rendall."

"I swear that that had nothing to do with treason!"

"You are accused of treason, your relations to O'Brien were verypeculiar, and if you can't explain that blind and this entry and a numberof other things, you will be in an extremely nasty position."

The doctor made no further effort to stand up to me. He sank into achair while I stood over him, and I knew I was going to hear the truth atlast. And yet this sudden collapse, and indeed his whole attitude, wereso unexpected that I felt more puzzled than triumphant.

"Mr. Merton," he said, "for God's sake don't give me away and I'll tellyou the whole truth. My cousin Philip can confirm it--or at least part ofit. I came up here because--well, I'd married the wrong woman and goneoff the rails a bit and Philip settled me here to keep me straight. I haddebts too--I have them still, I may tell you frankly. That's why I tookin O'Brien. I wasn't supposed to keep any liquor in the house--that wasone of the conditions. But damn it, I wasn't born to be a teetotaler, andthat's the plain truth, Mr. Merton. That devil O'Brien found me out andstarted to blackmail me--"

"Blackmail?" I asked.

"In his own way. He made me give him liquor--and there we were the pairof us! That's why I pulled down the blind. The decanter and glasses wereall out on this table here! And that's why O'Brien was afraid you mightbe sent by his relations. That was the one thing he was afraid of,--thathe might be found out and taken away."

I bent over him and sniffed.

"You have had a dram now!" I exclaimed.

"And it's not the first since you've been here either. You see I'mperfectly frank with you, Mr. Merton. If you like to give me away toPhilip--well be d----d, you can if you like. But you'll surely not? I'vetold you what I've told to no one else."

There rushed into my mind confirmation enough of part at least of thepoor devil's story. His curious moods, his manner as he entered theroom this evening, O'Brien's impish allusions to liquor when I firstvisited the house, all fell into their places now. Yet utterly as thishad exploded my hopes, I think I was more glad than sorry to see thedoctor come out of the ordeal with only this kind of stain on hischaracter. He was a likeable man, we had been capital friends--and hewas Jean's cousin.

"I promise you, doctor," I said, "that I shall repeat no word of thisstory--except of course in confidence to those who are on the track ofthis business in Ransay. Only in return you must tell me absolutelyfrankly if you have seen any grounds for suspecting O'Brien of anythingtreasonable--anything whatever."

The doctor shook his head emphatically.

"The only plotting the man was capable of was to get liquor. Otherwise hewas just a gas bag. I've seen him too often in a state when he'd havegiven everything away, if there had been anything to give."

And then I remembered the pocket book.

"But this entry!" I cried. "How do you explain that?"

The doctor looked at it again and his bewilderment was obviously sincere.

"I'm frankly d----d if I can make head or tail of it," he said. "Boltonmust have got on the wrong scent; that's the only thing I can imagine."

And then, like a sharp smack in the face, Jean's reading of that entrycame back to me. Could she have guessed right after all? It lookeduncommonly like it.

"And yet," I said to myself, "it's a great thing to have tested the otherhypothesis."

In fact, if one is not built to be easily dispirited, well, it is noteasy to dispirit one. I looked at the doctor, and something in myexpression seemed to make him smile. When he smiled he looked so pleasantthat my conscience smote me. I told myself he certainly deserved somereparation for the ordeal I had put him through.

"Doctor," I said, "I am devilish thirsty myself after this bout. Let'seach have a whisky and soda!"

It may or may not have been the wisest suggestion to make. I am not anexpert in these matters. But anyhow if he enjoyed his drink as much as Ienjoyed mine, it was at least a happy idea.

We had lit our pipes with our glasses at our sides, and I was in themidst of giving the doctor some further reparation in the shape of thetrue tale of my adventures, when I saw him suddenly start and glanceguiltily at his tumbler.

"Is that some one in the hall?" he exclaimed.

"Probably the servants," I suggested.

The next instant the door opened and, without any announcement, in walkedmy uncle Sir Francis Merton followed by my cousin Commander JohnWhiteclett.

XVI

TRACKED DOWN

"I trust we are not interrupting you, Roger," said my uncle.

His voice was caustic and his eye severe, and as the costume he hadselected for this thunderbolt entrance was apparently designed to suggesta combination of North Sea pilot and pirate King (including a fur capwith ear flaps tied under his venerable chin) one might have fired atwelve inch gun into the room and produced much less impression.

He frowned at me heavily but I was thankful to notice that his eye didtwinkle for an instant.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

"That is just the question, sir, I was going to put."

My cousin interposed.

"Uncle Francis arrived this morning to see how things were getting on andwhen I got your wire I brought him out with me. What has happened?"

"Got my wire!" I exclaimed. "Surely--I'm certain I never sent it off!"

I put my hand in my pocket, and there it was right enough.

"My dear Jack, here it is. It never was sent."

His hand dived into his own pocket and then held out a crumpled telegram.I took it and read this message.

"Request permission to be visited by my own doctor. Hobhouse."

"Do you mean to say you never sent that off yourself?" exclaimedSir Francis.

"Never!"

"Then who the--!" My uncle's expression completed the sentence.

Jack Whiteclett was looking uncommonly grave.

"This is a somewhat serious matter, Roger," he said quietly. "Didn't youwrite this either?"

He handed me a half sheet of paper on which was written in pencilthese words.

"GO TO DOCTOR'S. IF NO FURTHER MESSAGE THERE GO ON TO SCOLLAYS'_IMMEDIATELY_."

It was printed in capital letters so as to give no clue to thehandwriting.

"When did you get that?" I cried.

"It was handed to me as we landed. The messenger went off again at once,but I assumed of course it was from you."

"Roger!" thundered my uncle. "Who have you taken into your confidence?"

His eye turned manacingly on the doctor and I hastened to intervene.

"Dr. Rendall--Sir Francis Merton," I introduced. "But it certainly wasn'tDr. Rendall who sent these messages. He has only just learned the facts."

My uncle bowed very stiffly to the doctor and turned on me again.

"And how many more people have 'learned the facts'--the facts, I mayremind you, which it was so vital they should _not_ learn?"

I bared my metaphorical breast, and with as close an imitation of aclear-conscienced young man revealing the harmless necessary truth as Icould achieve without rehearsal, I told him,

"I have only informed one person, and she is thoroughly trustworthy."

"She!" said my uncle, not very loudly but extremely unpleasantly.

"She is Miss Rendall," I added.

My revelations to the doctor not having reached this stage when we wereinterrupted, I think I can honestly say that no utterance of mine everproduced a more telling effect on these men simultaneously.

"Jean!" exclaimed the doctor.

"Oh, is that her name?" said my uncle as soon as he could trusthimself to speak.

My cousin alone came straight to the point.

"Then she has sent me this wire and this message?"

"She must have," I agreed.

"In that case we had better push on for the Scollays at once and see whatshe means."

"You don't think it's a trap?" asked my uncle.

Jack Whiteclett smiled slightly. The idea of the Navy pausing to weighthe risk appeared to amuse him.

"We must take our chance," he said briefly. "We've both got ourshooting irons."

"And so have I," I added, "and certainly _I_ am going to the Scollays.You can trust Miss Rendall!"

"You can that!" said the doctor heartily. "And if you don't mind I'llcome with you."

I saw doubt in my uncle's eye and put in quickly.

"Certainly, doctor! We may all be needed. Come on!"

It was quite dark, and mortal cold; the road was frozen hard and thenor'east wind swept over it without a break from wall or hedge-row. Weall four trotted for a little to get up our circulation and then settleddown to a fast five-mile-an-hour walk. About half the distance had beencovered when I first heard a little sound ahead.

"What's that!" I exclaimed, and we stood still and listened.

"Somebody running!" said my cousin.

"Towards us?" asked Sir Francis.

"Yes."

Plainer and plainer sounded the pattering steps on the frozen road, andas they drew nearer I thought I could tell that they were light steps--awoman's or a boy's, they seemed.

"Let's drop into the ditch and see who it is," whispered Jack.

We broke, two of us to either side of the road, and I found myself withmy uncle stooping in one ditch, with Jack and the doctor across the roadin the other. Thus bent down, one could see objects against the sky moredistinctly and in a moment I spied the runner dimly, pattering down themiddle of the road straight for us. And then, in a few seconds, thisrunner gradually took shape and my eyes at last could see the swing of askirt and thought they could even recognise the slim figure. I jumped up.

"Wait!" muttered my uncle.

"It's all right! We mustn't frighten her," I said.

I came out into the middle of the road and saw the other three rising atthe sides. The runner was barely twenty yards away by now and I heard hergasp as she stopped abruptly.

"Miss Rendall?" I said.

The next moment she had rushed up to me, her eyes sparkling, her voicecoming in pants.

"Mr. Merton!" she panted and then her eyes fell on the others. "They'vecome then--I'm so glad!--forgive me for wiring--but--look!"

She handed me something small and long-shaped. It was a spectacle case.

"Take them out!" she said.

We were all four gathered round her now and I heard my uncle say,

"Where's that torch of yours, Jack?"

Then the flash of my cousin's electric torch fell on the spectacles andmy heart leapt.

"The tinted spectacles!" I cried.

"Where did you find them?" demanded my uncle and cousinsimultaneously, and I could tell from their voices that all doubts hadvanished, and that, like me, they were burning now only with theexcitement of the chase.

"At the Scollays'!" she said, still panting. "But there's no timeto lose--you'll see everything if we only hurry--he may be back ifwe don't!"

Sir Francis (of course) pocketed the spectacle case, and the whole fiveof us set out at the double, Jean trotting in front between Jack and me,and Sir Francis and the doctor clattering behind. My cousin and I eachtried a question, but we saw that Jean's breath would be better saved forwhatever was ahead, and so our voices fell silent and presently as weleft the high road our feet fell almost silent too. We only dropped to awalk when the farm buildings loomed up close ahead, and then for a momentJean stopped us and listened intently.

"They are all in the house still," she whispered. "I think we are intime!"

She led us, walking in single file and on our toes, into the midst of thehuddle of low houses until we came to one open, pitch-dark door. And thenshe flashed a little torch and we followed her into a building which Iremembered distinctly. One end was the barn where I slept that memorablefirst night in Ransay. The other was filled with a litter of odds andends--coils of rope, fishing nets, a barrel or two, spades, a pick-axe,and I cannot remember what else. With feverish energy she pushed andpulled these things aside, my cousin's torch lighting up the jumble,until a large rough wooden box became visible, standing in the verycorner against the wall. I could see at a glance that it had been lockedand the lock forced.

"I broke it open!" she whispered. "So there was no time to lose or he'dhave known!"

We raised the heavy lid and the very first thing my eyes fell on was awhite false beard. Jean picked it up and I could hear her voice shakingwith excitement.

"There's the rest of the disguise!" she said.

And there was the old coat, and a nasty looking scythe blade, and anumber of other things of which the powers that be have an inventory now,but which they would scarcely thank me for mentioning here. I may say,however, that they made a very thorough outfit for the job the owner ofthem had been engaged on. Among them was one very curious looking find:the two halves of a large cheese hollowed out, and one-half brokenacross. Jack Whiteclett pointed to this with a grim look.

"An unsuccessful experiment," he whispered. "He must have made a betterone for the _Uruguay_"

"Do you mean," gasped Jean, "that this was for a bomb?"

"Looks like it," he answered.

"Hush!" I whispered.

The torch went out on the instant and in absolute inky darkness we heldour breath and listened. Somebody was quietly approaching the barn. Thesteps were not exactly stealthy, but guarded and wary, though quiteassured, as if the man were only exercising a general precaution.

"Keep your faces hidden as much as you can!" whispered Whiteclett.

There was enough light in the open door to silhouette a figure as itentered, and a moment later I saw for an instant quite distinctly theoutline of that oilskinned man once more. And then for perhaps threelong seconds he was lost in the gloom within and we only knew of hisapproach by the sound of his footsteps. Abruptly they stopped. He waslittle more than a couple of paces from us now and I thought I heard himmove back a step. Probably he had seen the white of some one's face.

There was a little click and Whiteclett's torch flashed full on him. Inthat instant I saw his hand rise, and with my head down I charged him.The report of his pistol rang through the barn and almost simultaneouslydown he came, and I had a firm grip of those oilskins at last.

How the man fought! Not till I was sitting on his legs and Jack and thedoctor each had an arm pinned to the floor did he cease to struggle, andeven then he did not cease to swear. Sir Francis standing up over him,with the torch in his own hand, now turned the light on to his face. WhenI saw what it revealed I nearly let go our prisoner's legs through sheerbewilderment. For there in the torch's bright circle lay the poor idiotJock, cursing us in fluent German.

XVII

THE REST OF THE TRUTH

"Does any one know him?" demanded my uncle.

"It's the Scollays' idiot son!" I gasped.

I heard an exclamation both from Jean and the doctor.

"Son?" said Jean. "What! Did you think Jock was a Scollay?"

"He was sent up here about a couple of years ago to be looked after bythese Scollays," explained the doctor. "We always supposed he wassomebody's--?" he glanced at Jean and hesitated--"er--somebody's son."

"Good Heavens!" I cried. "What a fool I've been!"

Swiftly I ran over in my mind my first night with the Scollay household.Had I ever been told Jock was a son? No, I had simply assumed it, andgone on that assumption without ever once thinking anything more aboutthe matter. And so, with this impenetrable curtain between me and allpossibility of guessing the truth I had gone on uselessly groping.

"Fool!"

A harsh voice startled me. It was Jock, gazing viciously up at me andtalking guttural English now. His face was still framed in the circle ofthe torch, and as I looked at it now I realised that the truth hadactually been written there all the time for a closely observing eye toread. This man's features differed vitally from the Scollays' and,especially, there was no cast in his eyes.

"Fool!" he snarled, "yes, you have been a damned fool, you Hobhouse! Ach,if I had known, you should have been a dead fool!"

"You mean if you hadn't been made a bit of a fool of too?" I suggested.

He was a brave man and a useful man to his country, but the Germanboastfulness would out.

"Ach, but I should have found you out soon! Me, you would have foundout never!"

His eyes rolled round our party and I could see curiosity overcoming evenhis bragging.

"Who did tell you?" he demanded.

"If it is any satisfaction to you to know," replied Sir Francis, "yourmachinations were discovered and you were tracked down and caught by agirl." He turned to Jean and added, "An exceedingly clever, brave andpatriotic girl."

I am sorry to say our prisoner still further smirched his record. What hesaid was fortunately in German and the words at the beginning of hissentence were not the kind that Jean would know. Before he had finishedit my uncle had struck him with the butt end of the torch on the mouth.

"Hold your foul tongue!" he cried and then turned away and I could see akind of shiver run over him.

"God forgive me!" he murmured. "I never struck a man when he was downbefore!" And then he recovered himself a little and added, "But is aGerman a human being?"

Meanwhile Jean was already bringing a bundle of rope from the cornerunder my cousin's direction, and in a few minutes his practised hands hadknotted our prisoner up so securely that we were able to move aside fromhim and hold a hasty council of war.

"Now for the rest of the gang!" said my uncle. "Do you suppose they'veheard us and bolted?"

"Do you mean the Scollays?" asked Jean. "Oh, I don't believe they knew!"

"My dear young lady, it's very painful for you to think your tenants areplaying such games, but they simply must have known!"

"We can't afford to give them the benefit of the doubt," said JackWhiteclett. "That's absolutely certain. I am afraid I must arrest them,Miss Rendall, and the sooner it's over the better."

"Jack!" commanded our uncle, "this is a matter I think I could handlerather better than a hot-headed young man." (Commander Whiteclett, itmay be mentioned, was reputed in the Navy to have a remarkably coolhead.) "Dr. Rendall, perhaps you will be good enough to keep watch overour prisoner for a few minutes while we are gone. Roger, give the doctoryour pistol. If we hear you fire, doctor, we'll be out in a few seconds.Jack and Roger, come along with me."

Jack and I exchanged a look but said nothing. Our uncle still held thetorch, and flashing it before him led the way out of the barn. Wefollowed him, but my eyes I am afraid were over my shoulder. I saw Jeanslip her own torch into the doctor's hand and then she ran after me.

"May I come too!" she whispered.

"Of course!" I said, "you're in command of the party--or ought to be!"and out we went together.

The farm yard made rough walking, and there seemed every excuse for mytaking her arm and none for her objecting; nor did she.

"Who is this delightful, arbitrary old gentleman?" she asked in my ear."You never introduced me!"

"Our uncle," I murmured back. "Jack and I both have expectations so we'vegot to give him his head!"

I must say Sir Francis stage-managed our entrance into the Scollays'house very effectively. As he quietly opened the door, he got us allclose behind him, exactly like a band of robbers, so that we trod on oneanother's heels down a yard or two of narrow passage. The Scollays wereall seated round the kitchen table when our uncle's figure suddenlytowered out of the gloom, his pistol covering Peter senior's head, andhis voice thundering:

"Hands up!"

At the first command they simply gasped.

"Hands up or I fire!" thundered Sir Francis again, and up went every pairof hands, and what is more they stayed up.

"Your confederate is captured and has confessed everything!" announcedSir Francis.

The family visibly trembled but looked more amazed than ever.

"This fellow they call--" My uncle looked over his shoulder andwhispered, "What the devil was the fellow's name." And then in hisstentorian voice again, "This fellow called Jock has confessed! So I knowall about it. What have you got to say for yourselves?"

I saw their bewildered eyes wandering from one to the other of thefamily, and in a moment Mrs. Scollay asked in a quavering voice,

"What's come over Jock, do ye say, sir?"

"He has _confessed_!" repeated my uncle. "We know that he is aGerman spy!"

He glared at each astounded face in turn and then exclaimed overhis shoulder,

We all trooped into the kitchen and the whole four of us cross-examinedthat family in turn, so that by the end of it we got a pretty good ideaof how the land lay.

It seemed that two years before, the Scollays had been visited by apolite stranger apparently of the tourist species. This gentleman, afteradmiring the healthy yet retired situation of their residence, hadsuddenly been seized with an inspiration. The very place for anunfortunate young man of his acquaintance! he cried, and thereupon askedthem if they could take charge of a blameless, helpless, harmless idiot.The stranger hinted that there were the best of reasons why the parentsof this unfortunate wished him kept in the background. He had beenboarded out previously, it appeared, but too near home, and now here wasan ideal out-of-the-way spot for his retirement! The terms were sohandsome that further enquiries on the Scollays' part seemed superfluous,and so in a week's time Jock had arrived.

His harmlessness had been absolutely guaranteed, provided always that norestraints were put upon him and that any little innocent fancy wasindulged. Thus he wandered all over the island and at all hours,sometimes even wandering out at night when the foolish fancy took him,until this was accepted as the normal thing for harmless Jock. Anotherinnocent whim he had of making a collection of rubbishy odds and ends andkeeping them in a box in the barn. He had even repeated "Lock! Lock!" andstamped his harmless foot till they good-naturedly provided him with alock and key for this treasure chest. And thus long before August, 1914,Jock was provided with a character that rendered his habits abovesuspicion, and a strong box which nobody would ever dream of examining.

Two or three times the same polite tourist paid a visit to the island tosee how the poor demented young man was being looked after, and on theseoccasions he would take Jock out for quite a long walk, and afterwardsassure the family that their guest's health was benefiting greatly. Butthis gentleman had not visited the island since the war, it seemed.

This was the Scollays' story and I think we all believed that in the mainit was true. In fact, since then it has stood the test of all theevidence that could be got to check it. At the same time it seemed prettyclear that their greed had made them blinder than any one without astrong monetary interest could possibly have been. For fear of losingtheir little gold mine they had shut their eyes when people of averagecommon sense would have opened them pretty wide. Our questions convictedthem of this much, and at the end Whiteclett said emphatically that thetwo Peters must depart that night with him for further examination, iffor nothing more.

"I'll leave you here with them, sir, for a moment, while I have a look atthe other prisoner," he said quickly before our uncle could begin toissue the commands that we knew were coming, and with a sign to Jean andmyself, hurried out.

We were at his heels and followed him to the barn. There Jock was stilllying bound with the doctor sitting over him.

"Has he said anything to you?" asked my cousin when he had called thedoctor aside.

Dr. Rendall smiled under his grey moustache.

"He offered me £200 in gold to be paid on the nail if I would let himloose. We must have a dig for that money to-morrow, Whiteclett."

"Anything else?"

"Not a word after I had refused, and it's my belief you'll never getanother word out of the man between now and his execution."

"He seems that sort," my cousin agreed. "And now, doctor, you and I willcarry him into the house and keep Sir Francis company. The three of uswill have an eye on all the prisoners then, till I can get some fellowsup from the drifter to escort them. Do you mind going down to the boat,Roger, and sending up a party? You can find your way in the dark?"

"I'll make a shift to."

"Perhaps if Miss Rendall is going home she might put you on the rightroad," he suggested.

"Of course I will!" said Jean.

As I left him, Jack pressed my hand and whispered,

"Never say again I'm not tactful, Roger! Congratulations, old chap,you've brought off a triple event if I'm not mistaken!"

"Triple?"

"That's one," he said pointing to our prisoner, "Uncle Francis isanother, and I'll bet you sixpence I'm right about the third as soonas you shave that filthy beard. Get off with you now and don't keep alady waiting!"

XVIII

THE FROSTY ROAD

Sometimes we walked and sometimes we trotted in step side by side, herarm through mine, where I had persuaded it to venture, and where itthrilled me by remaining. Personally I was not in the least anxious tobring our errand to an early end, but Jean was fired with zeal toastonish my relations by the speed with which we brought reinforcements,and so, trot and walk, we hurried down the frosted road through thatblack March night, talking, talking, almost every step of the way.

It was she who began as soon as we were clear of the farm.

"Are your uncle and Captain Whiteclett going back tonight?" she askedanxiously, and when I said I didn't know, she cried, "Well then I mustcome back and see them in case they go. There has been no time to explainand they must be told that it was simply my stupidity that prevented youfrom catching Jock sooner!"

"Your--what?" I exclaimed.

"Yes, I ought to have seen that you didn't know he wasn't one of thefamily!" she insisted. "And that was one of the reasons why I went andinterfered again when I'd vowed I wouldn't. I thought if you didn'tsuspect him, perhaps I was wrong, and if I had been, you'd never havetrusted my 'guesses' again; so I wanted to get some proof to show you.But all the credit is really yours."

Our debate on this point was too one-sided to be worth recording. And yetthough my arguments were irresistible, she would persist--and persists tothis day--that somehow or other I unmasked Jock the spy.

"Well, let's leave it at that," I said at last. "Disguised as MissRendall, alone I did it! And now tell me what made you suspect the man?"

"It was only when you told me about meeting him by the cliffs on the dayof the murder that I suddenly thought of Bolton's discovery and then Isaw that he must have meant Jock. At least I guessed, but I knew it wouldseem the wildest idea until there was a little more proof, and so Idetermined to make a few enquiries and then tell you at once if thereseemed to be anything in my idea. So next morning I went to the Scollaysand paid them a friendly visit and began talking about Jock and hishabits and movements, and I found he had disappeared for a good part ofthat day when Bolton was murdered. I also found he was often out atnights, and that he kept that locked box in the barn."

"So you felt sure?"

"I would have if you hadn't made me rather less confident about myguesses. Still, I'd have told you next morning, only when you showed methat pocket-book you seemed so positive that you quite shook me. And thenI determined to go myself and break into the box and see if I could findsome proof."

"That's the one thing I can't quite forgive you for; running all thatrisk by yourself!"

"But that was just the point! I had somehow got it into my head thatsince I had found you out, perhaps he had too, and I remembered whathappened to Bolton, and I couldn't let you run the risk when it was quitesafe for me!"

"Quite safe!" I exclaimed. "Quite safe if he had caught youopening his box?"

"Oh, one has to run a _little_ risk," she admitted. "But I knew unless heactually caught me he would never suspect me."

"Well," I said, "every one has his own idea of what's a soft job. But youdid think it worth wiring for my cousin?"

"Believe me," she said earnestly, "I only really decided to do thatafter you had gone back and I couldn't consult you! I did _think_ ofit while you were with me, but you were so positive that there was noneed for wiring that I thought you might absolutely refuse to let mein any case--"

"And so you decided to decide after I had gone? I see! Well, all I cansay is I have been very judiciously handled."

"You are frightfully good-natured!" she declared, apparently in allsincerity.

I had given up debating my virtues by this time.

"It's this sea air," I said modestly, and enjoyed the delicious sensationof trying to see her smile in the dark, and imagining how sweet she wouldlook if it were lighter.

Going over each incident together as we hurried down the island thatnight, I was glad to find, however, one part of my conduct which eventshad thoroughly justified. If on that first night I had not instantlyassumed the role of a fellow Hun, I assuredly should not have beenwalking with Jean Rendall now. Undoubtedly I had kept my enemy thinkingup till that unfortunate Sunday afternoon when I had made my fatalblunder of trying to enlist the gabbling Jock as an ally, or I shouldhave been dead long before then.

"You guessed right," I said. "That was when I gave myself away--only itwas not to any one behind a wall! And do you know I believe the fellowactually tried me with the proper answer for the sheep riddle, only Icould make nothing out of it. Was I an idiot, or would any one have donethe same?"

"Any one!" she said with conviction. "And don't you think I was right nowabout the reason why he stopped firing next day?"

"I begin to think you were. He was cunning enough to see that it wasn'tworth while running any risks, when he could probably get a sitting shotnext time. And he would have got me if you hadn't arrested me. Heavens!To think of that man single-handed defying the British Navy and theBritish Police and actually making it impossible for any pursuer heconsidered dangerous to remain alive in this island! Bolton went, poorchap, and I would have gone but for you."

Perhaps I pressed her arm a little. Anyhow, she answered nothing for amoment, and then in a low voice said,

"Poor Bolton! Oh, you've no idea how frightened I got that morning when Iheard the news!"

I knew it was not for herself she was frightened, and my heartbeat quicker.

"I wonder how it happened," she went on. "I've often wondered since!"

"If I may venture to guess too," I said, "I should say that Bolton wasundoubtedly on the right track. He had found that Jock was not one of thefamily and had got suspicious of his movements, but one may safely takeit Jock was watching him like a cat watching a mouse--very likely hemanaged to overhear Bolton making enquiries, and he deliberately laid ascent for him that took him to the cliffs."

"That sounds very likely," said she. "And then he took Bolton's pocketbook and made those entries."

"That pocket book is rather a sore subject!" I said.

I heard a little gurgle of laughter, but then she did not know how sorethe subject was. My scene with the unfortunate doctor was hardly myhappiest recollection of Ransay.

And so we went on trotting and walking and talking, and all the time Iwas realising more and more vividly that if this could only be made thefirst of ten thousand evenings with her, I should be the luckiest man inthe world. Also I was realising that for some reason she seemed to thinkI had done something rather heroic in returning to the place where I hadnearly been scythed and shot, and tackling the unknown enemysingle-handed; especially after she happened to discover I had beenwounded. It made me feel--well, a little abashed and dreadfully afraid ofbeing found out when she knew me better, but extraordinarily happy forthe moment.

But for one sobering fact I should have told her everything I felt andhoped before that walk was over. The beard of Thomas Sylvester Hobhousestill wagged between us. Till I had got rid of that black hirsute horrorI was not going to risk my chances of happiness. It was pitch dark, Iadmit, but then in certain delicate situations, well, if I were a girl Ishould strongly object, especially if I knew it were dyed and didn't knowif the dye would run.

And so we sent up the reinforcements, and then I saw her home, andhurried back myself with a dancing heart to meet the others.

XIX

OUR MORNING CALL

John Whiteclett and the three prisoners went aboard at once, but thedoctor and I easily persuaded my uncle to spend the night with us. He wasvery stiff, poor old boy, after his exertions, and went early to bed, butI had a busy night of it. With the aid of the doctor's razors and thedoctor's medical skill I finally got rid of the beard and the dye about 2a.m. and went to sleep a clean-shaved blonde once more.

During breakfast next morning, I noticed more than once my uncle's eyesfixed on me in a very significant way, and Dr. Rendall seemed to noticeit too, for when breakfast was over he tactfully left us to ourselves.

"H'm, you have lost no time in making yourself look like a Christianagain, I notice," my uncle began.

"I lost no time in beginning, sir, but I assure you it was a devilishstiff conversion."

"In that case what shall we do with ourselves this morning? Revisit thescene of last night's affair, eh?"

"I thought a walk in the other direction might give you a better idea ofthis interesting island," I suggested.

"Is there anything to see in the other direction?" he enquired, stillwith the same gravity, but with an eye that inadvertently twinkled everynow and then.

"I thought of presenting you to the proprietor of the island, sir."

My uncle looked at me fixedly for a moment and then abruptly enquired:

"Do you mean to marry her, Roger?"

"That's entirely for her to say, Uncle Francis."

"Well, you'll be deuced lucky if she says 'yes'! By the way, what are yougoing to marry on?"

This was a somewhat delicate question but I thought it best to be candid.

"The advertised reward," I replied.

"For what, may I ask?"

"For catching the spy."

"Oh, _you_ claim that!"

"No, she does."

My uncle smiled beneficently.

"That's all right, old fellow," said he, "and I'll intimate as much toher father. Come on! Now you've shaved, what are you waiting for?"

"Your blessing, sir; but I'm ready now."

The very weather was encouraging, for the wind had fallen considerably,and it was just cold enough to make us step out over the frozen road inbursting spirits. My uncle literally whistled several times, and once heremarked _à propos_ of nothing:

"I've always admired that type myself!"

On what decent pretext I managed to get Jean out of the library withintwo minutes of her entrance with her father, or whether it actually wasdecent, my memory is a blank. I knew she loved me because she came outwith me so quickly, and she knew my heart because I asked her to. And aswe both had really known the night before, there scarcely needed aquestion to be asked and answered. And that is the end of Jean's and mypart in the story.

* * * * *

As for that brave, brutal and extraordinary man who had masqueraded as animbecile for two whole years to serve the ambitions of his country,playing the part of a kind of isolated living base for the German Navy,as a spy, as a destroyer, and as a murderer, I have never learned hisname or his past history to this day. After his first outburst ofblasphemy, I believe he kept doggedly silent up to his speedy end. Helived and died like a savage, cunning, carnivorous beast; or, in otherwords, like his masters who employed him.